NCIS: New Year's Even
by spookysister7
Summary: Head Detective Carlton Lassiter is searching for his kidnapped fiance, Angeline. What he doesn't know is that she's been framed for a murder and is now in the hands of NCIS. Will they be able to uncover the truth, or will Daemon get away with murder?
1. Chapter 1: Prologue

NCIS/Psych: New Year's Eve(n)

Summary: Head Detective Carlton Lassiter is searching for his kidnapped fiance, Angeline. What he doesn't know is that she's been framed for a murder and is now in the hands of NCIS. Will they be able to uncover the truth, or will Daemon get away with murder?

AN: Hello and welcome to part four of Lassie's Holi-daze. This story follows Halloween Knights, Thanksgiving Daze, and Christmas Mourning. I included a short recap of what's happened so far. If you haven't read the other stories, this one should still make sense.

This story will be a crossover with Psych.

I promise that the non-Psych fans will still be able to follow the story without difficulty.

**Chapter 1: Prologue**

"She's in D.C.?" I sputtered, running my fingers through my hair anxiously.

Angeline was across the country. I knew that Daemon had taken her as far as Arkansas, of course. How could I ever forget the bloody crime scene and the 1.8 million acres where I thought he'd buried her body?

But her call early this Christmas morning had left no doubt that she was still alive, and apparently somewhere in Virginia.

My partner, Detective Juliet O'Hara, typed furiously as she tracked who owned the phone that Angeline had used in her plea for help.

I paced in front of her desk, unable to sit still even in the organized chaos of the Santa Barbara police station. I knew that as head detective, I was probably out of line using department resources to track the call. I should call the FBI. Angeline was a kidnap victim, taken over state lines and therefore a federal case.

But I just couldn't do it.

She was my fiancé. I loved her and I thought she'd been dead for three weeks. How could I simply make a phone call to the proper authorities?

My stomach rolled once again as I thought about what could have happened to her in the weeks since Daemon kidnapped her.

The man was completely unscrupulous, sadistic, and determined. He'd raped Angeline and tried to kill us both on Halloween, he'd sacrificed two of his men to try to kill her on Thanksgiving, and he'd nearly killed me when he kidnapped her.

All because of her scum-of-the-earth brother.

It wasn't enough that she was kept in the basement for a decade to be used and abused by her drug-dealing brother's friends and co-workers. No, the minute I rescued her and she agreed to testify, her brother sent Daemon to kill her.

Even after the trial, with her brother and his cohorts put away for life, still he kept after her.

And he'd succeeded. He shot me, only grazing my temple because of Angeline's efforts, and took her.

I thought she was dead.

I knew she was dead.

Everything we'd found; the cabin deep in the woods, the stolen car, the bloody sheets, all pointed to her quick and painful demise.

And yet, she'd left that message on O'Hara's phone this morning.

Why didn't she call me? I can understand not calling Henry, even if he was like her adoptive father. As a retired cop, he'd definitely be trumped by an active one if you needed help fast. But why not me?

And who was Tim? All she'd asked was for O'Hara to call a guy named Tim and tell him she was in trouble and needed help.

My fists clenched as I remembered the scream that had cut off any further information.

The only thing we had left to go on was that phone.

"The number is military," O'Hara said, watching me with concerned eyes, "Registered to a Lieutenant Roger James, Navy."

"Military," I muttered, shaking my head.

What on Earth was Angeline doing with a military man's cell phone? How had she escaped from Daemon?

Where was she now?

"Go," Chief Vick ordered, startling me from my thoughts. When had she come in? Why wasn't she with her husband and baby on Christmas?

"I called her," O'Hara said quietly.

"I said go, Carlton," Chief Vick repeated, "You're still on vacation, so jurisdiction shouldn't be an issue. One stipulation: get the FBI to back you up. I don't want you going after Daemon alone. He's done too much damage already."

I frowned at the thought of crawling to the FBI for help, but she was right. I couldn't do this alone. I nodded sharply.

I was going to D.C.


	2. Chapter 2: Nightingale

AN: Here there be NCIS!

Chapter title from 'Nightingale' by Norah Jones.

"Nightingale, sing us a song of a love that once belonged. Does it seem like I'm looking for an answer to a question I can't ask? All the voices spinning around me, trying to tell me what to say. Can I fly right behind you? You can take me away."

**Chapter 2: Nightingale**

I was sick to death of being cold.

I had been cold locked in the back of the police car.

I was cold in booking, when they took my fingerprints, and when they threw me in a cell that reminded me of the basement- except crowded.

I was cold when they dragged me out of the cell and into another police car.

I was cold now, waiting in this interrogation room in the building with the orange walls and the cops without uniforms.

The room was dark and the mirror was dark. I stared at myself in it wondering where all the blood had come from and that was probably why none of the women wanted to come near me.

An older man walked in, his eyes as bright blue as Carlton's and I felt my heart stop within my chest for one, painful beat as I looked at him and remembered.

Was that what Carlton would have looked like when his hair turned grey? Would he have had that same hard stare that was so familiar and so chilling?

The man slapped down the file he was carrying, the sound echoing in the barren room and jerking me back to the present.

He sat across from me, leaning back in his chair. I saw a badge clipped to his belt. NCIS. Wonder what that meant?

"My name's Gibbs. What's yours?" he said quietly, his voice deep.

I remained stubbornly silent.

The cops couldn't get me to speak, what made him think he could?

He leaned forward and opened the file, peering down at it myopically for a moment before looking up at me.

"Your fingerprints aren't on file anywhere, but we do have them on six wallets and a Lieutenant's dead body. Care to explain?"

I stared at him, my arms crossed.

I had already begun to analyze him. He was in power, nearly top but not quite, but not because he couldn't- just because he didn't want to be. He wouldn't respect anything less than honesty or...

"How does someone not show up in any database anywhere?" he asked, not really expecting an answer as he leaned forward.

"I'll tell you," he said quietly, and I nearly rolled my eyes, "You're not here legally. That means you could be a terrorist. Which means I could have you sent to Gitmo faster than you can blink. So, I'll ask you again, who are you?"

Was that some sort of threat? What was Gitmo? Honestly curious and reading the determination in his shoulders, I broke my vow of silence.

"What's Gitmo?" I asked quietly, my voice cracking from lack of use.

He looked at me incredulously.

"Guantanamo Bay," he clarified.

I cocked my head and raised an eyebrow. A bay was supposed to threaten me somehow?

He leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing.

"You honestly have no idea, do you?" he asked.

I shrugged and shook my head.

He sighed deeply and pushed forward a photo. I glanced down at it and then closed my eyes.

The military guy. The Lieutenant, I guess. Dead and cold and naked now, lying on a metal table with a hole in him.

"Why did you shoot him?" Gibbs asked.

I opened my eyes, staring over at him.

I didn't. I couldn't. How…

But I was covered in his blood, he was shot in my hotel room, and I ran away.

Of course they think I did it.

And I couldn't tell them otherwise. Daemon ordered me not to. He was my master, I couldn't disobey him.

"Was it another shake-down gone wrong?" Gibbs continued, "Did he follow you home?"

I stayed silent, staring down at my lap.

He laid down some more papers and I glanced up at them. Familiar faces stared back.

"We have multiple reports of your operation," Gibbs said, "You lure men out of clubs and bars and then steal their money."

I held my breath, waiting for the next line. What was my punishment? Would they send me to prison forever, like my brother? Would they kill me? I heard that killers got killed sometimes, and they thought I killed that military man.

Where was Tim? Would he come? Would he help me? Could he?

Had Juliet even gotten my message? Could she find him, somehow? I didn't give her much before I was caught.

"Look at me!" Gibbs demanded, his hand striking the table.

I flinched and looked up at him, my breath coming in short, sharp pants.

This was it. This was it.

I saw it in his eyes. The same cold look I saw in Daemon's eyes as he held the knife to my throat and demanded that I choose.

What would I choose now?

The door flew open and I flinched, looking over, half-expecting Daemon to be there, gun still smoking.

Tim.

I heard Gibbs snap something but it didn't matter.

I jumped to my feet and ran over to Tim, hugging him tightly and reveling in the safe, familiar scent.

"Tim, Tim, thank you, thank you," I murmured.

His arms went around me, his calloused hands warm on my bare back.

"Shh, Angel, it'll be okay," he said.

"McGee!" Gibbs yelled and I flinched, clinging closer to Tim.

He'd help me. He'd save me. He was a cop, I knew, but he was a good guy. He'd wanted to help me when he was undercover at John's place. Surely he'd come to help me now. Juliet must have found him somehow.

"Boss…" Tim said and I froze.

No.

No, it couldn't be.

Gibbs couldn't be his boss. If Gibbs was his boss, then he couldn't help me. Then he wasn't there for me at all.

I pulled away, unconsciously hugging myself as I looked up at Tim, betrayed.

"Sit down!" Gibbs ordered and I went back to my seat, fighting back tears.

He pulled Tim from the room and I was left all alone again.

Alone and cold.

-000-

A woman was sent in later.

She was frighteningly beautiful, dark and dangerous.

Her hair was back in a tight ponytail and I self-consciously pulled my frizzy braid over my shoulder. Her clothes were black, like mine, but looked soft and expensive and warm. My short leather skirt and matching vest barely covered the essentials.

I was standing now, sick of being stuck in the chair in the empty room.

I saw her gaze flit down to my high-heeled leather boots, rising above my knees. She ran her eyes along my bare midriff and up to the thick black collar around my throat.

It wasn't like the men looked at me. It was more appraising, like she was seeing if I was hiding anything.

"I am Ziva," he said simply, "And you are Angel?"

I nodded.

"Sit, please," she said, gesturing to the chair and taking a seat herself.

I sat, watching her warily.

Where was Tim? Was he in trouble?

"What can you tell us about Lieutenant James?" she asked.

I blanked for a moment. Oh. The military guy.

I shrugged, crossing my arms.

"Timothy told us about your… work. He also said something about it not being voluntary. Is that right?"

I said nothing.

"Your collar is interesting. I have a friend who would like to look at it. Is that okay?" Ziva asked.

I wondered why she was being so nice. She didn't seem like a naturally nice person, but her eyes looked… soft. Like she felt sorry for me, somehow.

I didn't answer, but she gestured towards the mirror anyway.

A second later another woman entered the room.

She was as far from Ziva as night and day.

Her dark hair was in two short pigtails, framing her face and green, green eyes. Tattoos peeked out from under her black t-shirt, decorated with a smiley-face skull, and her short pleated plaid skirt was matched by bright red stockings. Her feet were clad in clunky be-chained boots and, like me, she wore a thick leather collar, but white.

"Hi!" she greeted, smiling, "I'm Abby! Tim's told me so much about you!"

She hugged me and I just froze, looking over at Ziva.

She moved behind me and I watched her in the mirror.

"I'm going to take a look at your collar, 'kay?" Abby said, not waiting for a reply.

Her fingers ghosted around the edge of my collar and I shuddered lightly.

"Sorry," she said, "Cold fingers."

She lifted my long, heavy braid and bent down to look closer. I leaned forward, allowing her to examine the lock.

She was peering at it intently, and I could see her mind spinning as her warm breath ghosted across my neck.

"There's a lock here," she muttered.

I nodded slightly.

She looked up at the mirror, meeting my eyes.

"Do you have the key?"

I shook my head.

She bit her lip, black lipstick smudging.

I saw Gibbs appear in the doorway and watched as she threw a look of concern in his direction.

Oh.

My eyes widened as a thought struck me, and I turned slightly in my chair, my back to Gibbs.

"Abby?" I whispered.

She took her attention off my collar and smiled gently at me.

"Is Gibbs your master?"


	3. Chapter 3: Bulletproof

AN: Sketch mentioned in this chapter: http:/ /i1225. photobucket. com/albums/ ee388/Spookysister7 /Other/psych_sketch2. jpg

(take out spaces)

Chapter title from 'Bulletproof' by La Roux.

"I won't let you turn around and tell me how I'm much too proud to walk away from something when it's dead. Tick, tick, tick, tick on the watch; life is too short for me to stop. Oh baby, your time is running out."

**Chapter 3: Bulletproof**

I thought she was going to faint.

Her face grew even paler than it was already and she stuttered, standing abruptly.

"I-I…" she said, her eyes flickering from me to Gibbs.

I flinched when Gibbs strode angrily into the room.

"What did she say to you?" he asked Abby, glaring at me.

Abby stood there, speechless.

He took a step towards me and I couldn't help but duck my head and raise my arms, covering my face.

"I'm sorry, sorry," I said quickly, "Shouldn't have asked! D-didn't know it was a secret, weren't supposed to talk about it. Sorry!"

I glanced up at the long silence, daring to look out from the protection of my arms.

Ziva was standing next to Gibbs, her hand on his arm. Abby was looking at me worriedly. Gibbs…

Gibbs looked shocked.

"Abby," he said quietly, "What did she ask you?"

Abby swallowed and bit her lip.

"She asked if you were my m-master," she answered.

He flinched.

I lowered my arms.

Why did he look so sick at the thought? Didn't the collar mean she belonged to someone? Wasn't he in charge?

No, not in charge, I remembered. Second, maybe lower a little. Maybe Abby was his boss'. Maybe she wasn't permitted to talk about it.

"McGee," Gibbs called and my heart rose.

Tim. Maybe now he'd help me. Maybe he'd tell them I wasn't bad.

Tim came into the room followed by a handsome, tall man with spiky hair. Shawn would love his hair.

Shawn.

I swallowed back tears once again, fighting to keep myself in the now.

Abby grabbed Tim's arm, a deep frown on her face.

"McGee, see if you can get her to tell us what's going on," Gibbs said.

Tim nodded and sat down in the chair across from me, the others leaning against the wall and listening.

I looked around nervously.

"Angel, please. Tell us what happened with Lieutenant James."

I shook my head, looking down.

"We can't help you if you don't tell us!" Tim said, louder.

I swallowed hard but shook my head again.

"They're going to put you in jail," he warned.

I looked up at him, my eyes wide.

"They'll lock you up for a long time," he said softly.

I shuddered, remembering the basement and all those years locked up and tortured and alone always alone and cold and hopeless and no way out and not again I couldn't do it again but…

"I can't tell you," I whispered.

"Why?" Tim asked, leaning forward, "Why can't you tell me?"

I closed my eyes.

"He ordered me not to," I answered.

"Who?" Gibbs asked from nearby.

My eyes shot open, my pulse throbbing in my ears as I looked up at him.

He was close, too close and he was powerful and dangerous and not safe and he was in charge and I should answer him but I couldn't because…

"My master told me not to," I said shakily, looking into those hard, blue, blue eyes that were so like Carlton's but not and didn't have the love would never have the love again and he was dead so dead and he'd killed him just like he'd killed the lieutenant but I couldn't tell could never tell because he was my master.

I touched my collar and swallowed hard and looked away from those eyes.

I heard Gibbs move away and then Abby whispered something to him and then he spoke again.

"Ziva," he said quietly, whispering something to her, and I opened my eyes as she approached.

Before I knew what she was doing she'd reached under my long braid, up to the base, and pulled out the paper I had hidden there.

"Don't!" I cried out as she took it away from me, the large man's hand on my shoulder forcing me to sit back down and I inhaled the scent of coffee and expensive cologne and his hands were soft but big and calloused in the same places as Tim's.

Ziva went to the other side of the table and unfolded the paper, everyone gathering to see what was on it.

I looked at it, remembering those blue, blue eyes, and his thick dark hair, and the soft way he'd look at me in the mornings when he woke up like he couldn't believe I was still there.

"Who is this?" Ziva asked, looking down at my sketch.

"Is this your master?" Gibbs growled, pushing the paper towards me.

"No," I said quickly, reaching out to touch it. He pulled it away.

"Your brother, then?" Tim asked and I winced.

"No," I spat, sickened at the thought.

Ziva moved towards me again and I squirmed against the large man's hands on my shoulders.

What was she going to take from me now? I had nothing left I owned, save for one secret that not even my master knew.

"Tony," Ziva said quietly to the man and I saw a look pass between them.

He shifted to my side, his hands gripping my biceps and preventing me from moving.

Ziva's fingers were suddenly at my throat, lifting my collar, and my eyes grew wide as I struggled.

"No!" I cried, fruitlessly trying to evade her.

It was too late.

I felt the cold metal slide from my neck; its comforting weight gone from the hollow of my throat.

"No!" I cried again, ceasing my struggle as I watched the glittering silver move further from me.

I was crying freely now, tears running down my cheeks.

"Please, please, give it back," I begged.

Tony's hands stayed on my arms as Ziva handed Gibbs my necklace, the ring dangling between his fingers.

"It is engraved," she said, looking over at me.

"I am my beloved's…" he read and I covered my face, sobbing.

"And my beloved is mine."

The room was silent.

Abby was in front of me now, peeling my hands from my face, tears in her own eyes.

"He was your husband?" she asked softly.

I shook my head, my throat closed.

"Your fiancé?" Ziva asked.

I nodded, clutching the ring tightly when she handed it back to me.

"What happened?" Gibbs asked.

I shouldn't tell. But what if they took it away again? It was all I had left. All I had to remember. All that was real.

"He was murdered," I said, my voice speaking without my permission.

They shared a look and I knew I had to tell them more; that they weren't going to just let it go at that.

"He killed him and my friend and his father. He killed them all."

"Who?" Gibbs asked.

I sighed, touching my collar as the ring dug a circle into my clenched hand.

I looked up at met Gibbs' eyes.

"My master."

-000-

They were silent as I explained every detail.

How I saw Carlton fall: the bullet entering his brain and silencing him forever.

How I woke up in the car, bound and gagged and in the middle of nowhere.

How he tortured me.

How he raped me.

How he told me of Shawn and Henry's murders, gloating over them.

How he held a knife to my throat and offered me death or servitude.

How he broke me.

How he used me as bait to steal from sailors.

How he rented me to the group Tim was undercover in.

How the military man showed up at our door and they fought and he shot him and ran off leaving me all alone, always alone, and he left me and he wasn't supposed to leave me and he was my master and why did he leave me there all alone?

Abby was in the corner being held by Tim as she cried, and Tony looked sick while Ziva nodded as if she'd heard it all before, and Gibbs just looked angry.

They sent me down with Abby to autopsy and I was afraid because autopsy meant death and I wasn't dead. Abby said the doctor was down there and that made me even more afraid, but I didn't fight because I had no fight left. So I just clutched the ring and went in the elevator and went down, down, down to the basement. Death always happened in basements. It was a fitting place to die.

She led me through the darkness and I followed. I never thought the Angel of Death would have pigtails, but I guess she does. The doctor was there and he was old and grey just like that other doctor from long ago. He had me take off my clothes and lay down on one of the metal tables and it was just like that time long ago and I waited for the numb, the red, the black, the pain.

He smiled at me and said something about ducks and Abby spoke to him quietly as his cold fingers moved gently across my skin and I waited, waited, waited for the pain.

He brought out a cold disk and pressed it to my heart, my stomach, and listened. Then there was a flash of light and I jumped. It was so bright against the darkness, but I knew what it was, had seen it before.

Pictures.

He was taking pictures.

Abby was, actually.

One of them asked me something and I nodded, but I don't know what they said because the blood was thrumming in my ears.

The camera flashed again and again and they had me stand, the cement cold beneath my feet and I knew I should have felt something, standing naked while they brought the camera close, their hands brushing over my scars.

But I felt nothing.

The doctor's fingers were on my wrist now and he looked scared and then Abby was there and she was talking but I couldn't hear her.

She helped me dress, my hands tingly and hard to move.

I sat at the little desk by the wall, the warm yellow light of the desk lamp like a mini-sun and I almost tried to touch it, to feel the warmth, but instead I put my boots back on.

The doctor rolled over a chair and sat in front of me. He asked me something, gesturing to Abby.

I didn't respond and she started to leave.

"Please!" I rasped, my voice barely audible as I grabbed her wrist and stopped her.

She couldn't leave me here, not alone, not in the dark with the doctor. The doctor hurt, he did bad things and maybe if she was here he wouldn't- hadn't so far.

She rolled over a chair of her own once I let go of her wrist. She smiled worriedly down at me and I realized how tall she was, taller than the doctor even.

"Ms. Angel," the doctor said and I turned my attention to him, thankful he'd taken off the white coat and the rubber gloves and put away the tools. He had a little recorder on the table. The red light blinked.

"Can you tell me a little of your medical history?"

I cocked my head, confused.

"You have some interesting scars. Can you tell me how you got them?" he asked, his voice surprisingly gentle.

"All of them?" I asked, brow furrowing. I didn't know if I could remember every one. There were so many: some that you could only feel, some you could see, and some that only I would know of, inside.

Abby and the doctor shared a look and I wondered what they were thinking.

"How about starting with the three surgical incisions in the groin area?" the doctor asked.

I looked down, my hand automatically moving to my abdomen.

I knew which scars he meant.

They were the most frightening of all.

"I-I don't remember," I lied, my fist tightening around the ring.

He touched my knee and I flinched away. His hand went back to his own knee.

"How old were you?" he asked.

I'd blocked it out. For so long, I really had forgotten. But seeing him, being in a place like this was different than in the hospital. There I was surrounded by people. There I knew Carlton wouldn't let anything happen to me.

But now Carlton was dead and I was alone. Alone with strangers and a doctor in a cold, dark basement.

Just like before.

"Fifteen," I said, my voice shaking as I remembered, "Maybe sixteen. It was hard to tell back then. At first."

"First?" Abby squeaked out, and I knew she was trying to understand, but how could she?

"The first few years," I explained, "Hard to tell time alone, in the dark."

"Years?" Abby whispered and I saw the confusion in her eyes.

"Tim… he told you that my brother was my first master?"

"Yes, he mentioned that," the doctor said, looking in his notes, "Though he wasn't quite sure what that meant."

"It meant," I said with a shaky sigh, preparing to tell my story once again, "That when our parents died, when I was fifteen, my brother got the house, the car, and me."

They frowned.

"He was never a good man. Five years older than me and always bad. My mother, she tried to ignore it. Tried to pretend he got his money from investments. My father just drank. But they protected me. I didn't know how much they did until they were gone," I fell silent, swallowing back my emotions.

"And then?" the doctor asked.

"And then I was his. His to do with as he pleased. He locked me down in the basement, in an unfinished room my father started. He used me to solidify his position. To work his way up. I was a perk of dealing with him."

Abby looked sick, and I wasn't even being detailed. Just a rough outline of the days and weeks and months and years of a lone light bulb, infrequent meals, and visits from man after man.

"The doctor came after the scare," I said quietly, my stomach clenching.

"Oh, dear," the doctor said softly and I nearly laughed.

"It didn't last long; not even a month and I lost it. I was too thin, too hurt, too young, something. But it scared him, so he called the doctor."

"Pregnant, you got pregnant," Abby whispered, her eyes wide.

I nodded, my eyes filling with tears I refused to let fall.

"The doctor came and he hurt and there was darkness and pain for a long time and I was alone," I said, the words blurring together as I remembered what I had so thoroughly forgotten.

"Did anyone tell you what he did?" the doctor asked gently.

I shook my head.

"They just said they wouldn't have to worry anymore," I whispered, the impact hitting me suddenly.

I wrapped my arms around myself and shuddered, the ring biting into my shoulder and for one, blazing second I was glad that Carlton was dead because I almost betrayed him, almost took away any chance he had of having children and I would rather die first.

My brother. Still, he controlled me. Still he was my true master, and always would be.

And Daemon. Daemon was there. Daemon had been there from the beginning. Daemon was the one who…

"Oh my God," I whispered, my fingers wrapping around my collar as if to tear it off my throat.

Daemon was the one who had gotten me pregnant.

He'd taken everything from me.

But no more.

The tears that fell were not ones of sadness, but anger. I looked up at the doctor and Abby, shaking my head.

"Never again," I said firmly.

He would never take anything else.

I was going to kill Daemon.

And they were going to help me.


	4. Chapter 4: Here Without You

AN: Chapter title from 'Here Without You' by 3 Doors Down

"I'm here without you baby, but you're still on my lonely mind. I think about you baby, and I dream about you all the time."

Fun factoid: Ola, Arkansas is near Lake Nimrod. Yeah. *snicker*

**Chapter 4: Here Without You**

The flight took forever; thankfully there was room as few people flew on Christmas day.

I fought the urge to pace restlessly as I waited outside the office of the FBI agent assigned to my case.

My case.

Angeline.

The security guard was watching me as I touched my holster again, making sure that my weapon was at my side.

I wanted to roll my eyes. Like I was stupid enough to pull my gun in here. It just gave me a sense of security; that my trusty Glock was where it was supposed to be, ready to use should I see…

Daemon.

Even the thought of his name set my teeth on edge.

Finally, the door opened and an older man greeted me.

"I'm Agent Fornell, and you must be Detective Lassiter," he said, shaking my hand and leading me into his office.

"Let's cut to the chase," I said as soon as the door closed behind me.

He sat down, his hands folding in front of him as I stood.

"By all means," he said with a small smile, his eyebrow raised slightly, "I have Christmas dinner to get back to."

"Angeline Hillcroft, kidnapped three weeks ago from Santa Barbara, California. Presumed dead near Ola, Arkansas. My partner received a phone call from her this morning," I handed him the phone trace, "We traced the call to the D.C. area. The phone was registered to…"

"A Navy Lieutenant, I see," Fornell interrupted, leaning forward, "How do you know it was her? It could have been…"

"It was Angeline," I said firmly.

He stood, his brow raising in question.

"She's my fiancé," I said, teeth gritting, "I know it was her."

"Ah," Fornell said with a sympathetic nod.

I didn't come here for sympathy. I didn't want to come here at all. I wanted to hunt down Daemon like the scum he was and put a bullet through his brain.

But I had no jurisdiction here. No back-up.

I wouldn't risk Angeline.

"Look," I growled, "I came here because I need your help. Are you going to help me or not?"

Fornell huffed, running a hand through his thinning grey hair.

"Well, usually if the Navy's involved we'd send you over to NCIS, but…"

"But what?" I asked impatiently. If he was going to foist me off to another agency, I wanted to know now.

"But," Fornell continued with an ornery grin, "kidnapping is a FBI matter, and we have no real proof the Navy is involved. Maybe she just borrowed the phone. Besides, I'd love to get one over on Jethro. He's always horning in on my cases."

Great. Now finding Angeline was just a way for this guy to thumb his nose at NCIS.

I sighed.

Take what you can get, Carlton.

"Fine, so let's start," I said.

-000-

We went to the Lieutenant's apartment first.

It was empty, of course, though it looked like a troop of elephants had been through there recently.

The manager was gone, visiting family, and nearly every other apartment in the building was empty. Apparently Christmas day was not the time to go looking for information.

"Detective," Fornell called, finally reappearing.

We'd split up to cover more ground and find out if anyone had seen a woman matching Angeline's description.

"I found the assistant manager. Apparently there was some activity in James' apartment earlier today. Police asked for the key and took out a couple of boxes."

"Did they say what for?" I ask, mind spinning as I tried to connect the dots.

Police. That meant something had happened. Something big. Either James' had been arrested or…

"Didn't say. The woman couldn't even remember which 'police' they were, but it didn't sound like Metro. Something with a lot of letters, she said," Fornell said, shaking his head in exasperation, "Could be NSA, ATF, CIA, NCIS, heck, it could have been FBI for all I know!"

Frustrated, I opened my mouth to snap out a sarcastic response about the government not knowing its right from its left when Fornell's phone rang.

He walked away, nodding, and I let him have some privacy as I mulled over what we'd found out so far.

James was in some kind of trouble with the authorities, his phone was off the radar, and yet he had no criminal record as far as we could tell.

Fornell snapped his phone shut and strode to my side.

"We'll have to continue the investigation tomorrow," he said, frowning down at his phone.

"No!" I protested immediately, stomach sinking at the thought of Angeline out there, somewhere, hurt and alone and waiting for me to find her. Or, worse yet, with Daemon.

"Look, I'll make some phone calls and try to track down James, but it will take time. Find a hotel and get some sleep. I'll contact you the minute I hear anything."

I shook my head. No. I wasn't going to rest until I found her. I'd search all of D.C. if I had to.

Fornell grabbed my shoulder.

"She's made it this long," he said softly, "She'll make it till tomorrow. Get some rest."

-000-

Fornell had me 'escorted' to a local motel, with a guard stationed outside my door for 'protection'.

Ha. He just didn't want an armed, out-of-jurisdiction cop running around the streets, looking for revenge.

Maybe I'd underestimated him.

I sat on the edge of the bed, the faded floral comforter bunching under me.

Angeline.

I had to find her. I'd wasted so much time thinking she was dead and now, now I had a chance.

I could find her. I could rescue her. And we could finally, finally go home in peace.

After I killed Daemon.

I left my holster on but laid back in the bed, staring up at the white, cracked ceiling.

I should probably call and let O'Hara know what we'd found. Henry would want to know, too.

But what had we found?

No. I'd wait until I had real news or Angeline. Preferably the latter.

I fell asleep and dreamed of dark-eyed, dark-haired children.

-000-

"We found him."

I blinked quickly, Fornell's words not quite connecting in my sleepy brain. I held the phone with one hand and rubbed my eyes, sitting up in the bed.

"Where?" I croaked, finally realizing he had to be talking about James.

I glanced towards the window, the sunlight letting me know I'd slept far longer than I'd planned.

"He's dead."

Dead. The only connection we had to Angeline and he was dead.

Sweet Lady Justice.

"How?" I asked, standing and tucking in my wrinkled shirt, the shoulder holster biting into my side.

"Shot at a seedy hotel in town yesterday morning. But there's more," Fornell said, his voice serious.

"What?" I growled, yanking on my jacket.

"Metro arrested someone matching your girl's description fleeing the scene."

I froze and heard the phone case crack as my fingers tightened involuntarily.

"Angeline's in jail?" I said lowly, trying to control myself.

"Not anymore," Fornell said, "They handed her over to NCIS. She's in their custody."

"Then what are we waiting for?" I barked, throwing open the door, guard be damned.

Fornell snapped his phone shut and handed me a cup of coffee, smirking as I looked down at him in disbelief.

"Let's go," he said.


	5. Chapter 5: Back Against the Wall

AN: Chapter title from Cage the Elephant – 'Back Against the Wall'

"I said you got me where you want me again and I can't turn away. I'm hanging by a thread and I'm feelin' like a fool. I'm stuck here in between the shadows of my yesterday. I want to get away. I need to get away. Now you know, yeah, you got my back against the wall."

**Chapter 5: Back Against the Wall**

At dawn we started out.

"Don't worry," Tim said softly as we drove, wedged between Ziva and I in the backseat, "We'll protect you. Just go in and get a confession. That's all."

"No," I said, raising my voice so they all could hear, "No one comes in. No matter what you hear, you don't come in until I say the password. No one else is dying because of him."

Tony turned in the passenger seat.

"Look, Angel, we're federal agents. He's not going to kill us."

I laughed, my voice dark and mocking.

"Like he did Carlton, Henry and Shawn, you mean?" I asked.

"Yeah," Tony said, confused.

I leaned forward, the seatbelt pressing against my collarbone.

"They were cops," I said lowly, "It didn't save them. It won't save you."

I saw a look of surprise flit over Gibbs' taciturn face.

"Cops," Tony mouthed, looking over at Tim.

I leaned back, point made.

"If you want me to be the bait, you'll do as I say. Don't come in until I give the signal."

"What are you planning?" Ziva asked.

I leaned forward and looked around Tim.

"I'll just do what I'm good at," I said, smirking.

I looked up at Tim and grinned ferally.

"Isn't that right, Tim?"

The look of astonished shock on their faces was priceless.

-000-

I sat outside the hotel room, crime scene tape fluttering in the wind behind me.

I half-wished I'd taken Tim's coat he'd offered me, but I couldn't risk it.

Not if I was going to get Daemon to buy my story.

I resisted the urge to pull on my collar. They'd rigged it with some sort of tiny microphone, so they could tape Daemon's confession. Once I got him to confess, that is.

It would all be a moot point if he didn't show up. I had no idea where to look for him, but my best bet was to go back to the scene of the crime. Back home.

I stood, wrapping my arms around myself as I paced, trying to keep warm in the frigid morning sun. The snow was slowly melting and refreezing around me, cracking with every step I took.

I could feel their eyes on me, and I was thankful I'd refused the earpiece they'd tried to give me. That was all I needed right now- another voice in my head.

Already there was an intense debate raging.

He was my master. I was betraying him. I'd be alone, all alone forever.

He was a murderer. He'd taken everything from me, everything I ever had or would have.

I was nothing without him. He was all I'd ever known. He'd been there since the very beginning.

He'd hurt me since the very beginning.

The blade in my boot was cold against my shin, echoing the icy ring in the hollow of my throat.

Ziva had given it to me. I'd asked her for something, some defense, 'just in case'.

I think she knew what I had planned, but she didn't say a word. She pulled out the blade from her own boot and handed it to me, dark eyes calm.

If anyone understood what I was about to do, it would be her.

I thought it would have shocked me- planning a murder.

But it didn't.

I felt nothing but the dueling metals against my skin, the ice crunching under my boots, and the eyes watching me.

When Daemon appeared it was almost a relief. No more waiting.

I didn't make a sound when he grabbed my arm and jerked me behind the building.

"Where have you been?" he snarled, making me stumble as he dragged me along a dirt path behind the hotel, through a hole in a chain-link fence, and into a large, mostly empty warehouse.

He threw me against a tall shipping box, the unfinished wood digging splinters into my shoulders and lower back as I hit it hard.

"Where have you been?" he growled again, looming over me.

I pressed back against the box and swallowed, composing myself before replying.

"I r-ran away," I said softly.

"You weren't arrested?" he asked, eyes narrowing.

I shook my head.

"Where were you, then?"

"I-I hid," I said quietly, "And then I got lost and I couldn't find my way back and then I did and so I waited for you," I said, all in a rush like I was really afraid of him, afraid of what he might do to me.

I used to be.

Not anymore.

His hand cupped my cheek, mockingly gentle.

"So, you came back to me, huh?"

I nodded.

His hand slipped around and gripped my braid, jerking my head back. I yelped and looked up at him, my neck arched painfully.

"You didn't try to run away from me?" he asked, his voice low and threatening.

"No, never," I squeaked out.

He released me and chuckled.

"Of course not. You've got no one else, right?"

"Not since you…" I trailed off, unable to finish the sentence without letting my hatred show through.

He must have seen it anyway.

"What, Angel? Not since I killed your precious boyfriend? Or the kid and his old man?"

He slapped me and I fell to the ground, sliding along the dirty cement.

"Get over it. They're on your head, anyway. You're mine."

He leaned down and yanked me to my feet, lifting me by the shoulders and slamming me back against the box.

"You've always been mine," he whispered, kissing me, his tongue licking away the blood from my split lip.

He moaned as he pressed me back against the box with his body, his fingers inching beneath my skirt.

He finally pulled away long enough to take a breath and I forced the words from my lips, my instincts urging me to be silent and take what was coming to me like I always did.

"And the military man? What about him?" I asked, crying out as his fingers tightened painfully around my thigh.

"I got rid of him," he snarled, "Nosy son of a…"

He glared at me, his cold grey eyes piercing.

"What difference does it make to you?"

"Nothing," I said, grinning up at him as I reached down into my boot, "But I know a few _little birds_ who'd love to hear about it."

I pulled my knife, still grinning as I jabbed the tip into his ribcage.

"Back off."

He looked surprised and vaguely amused even as he backed away, hands raised slightly.

"What do you think you're doing, Angel?"

"Any minute, federal agents are going to come bursting in here to arrest you," I said, "But they'll be too late. You'll be dead."

"What?" Daemon said with a laugh, "You're going to kill me?"

"Yes," I said coolly, "You've taken everything from me, so now I'm going to take everything from you."

He laughed again and I saw red. He didn't think I would do it. I saw him look around- for an escape route, no doubt.

"You're not getting out of here alive," I said, shifting the knife in my hand.

It was time. I could hear booted footsteps approaching. I had to act now before they got here. He wouldn't rot in prison. He wouldn't be that lucky.

I lunged forward, knife raised.


	6. Chapter 6: Far Away

AN: Chapter title from 'Far Away' by Nickelback.

"I need to hear you say that I love you. I have loved you all along. And I forgive you for being away for far too long. So keep breathing, 'cause I'm not leaving you anymore. Believe it. Hold on to me and never let me go."

**Chapter 6: Far Away**

"They WHAT?" I yelled, turning on Fornell as I registered exactly what he said.

"It was her idea, apparently," he defended, driving manically down the crowded D.C. streets, "Gibbs thought…"

"Who the hell is Gibbs to make decisions that put a civilian in danger like that?" I growled.

"Look," Fornell said, taking his eyes off the road for a split second, "He's the best, okay. He won't let anything happen to her. You wanted that Daemon guy caught, right?"

"Not at Angeline's expense," I corrected, hanging on as we squealed around a corner.

Coming to a stop next to a large, unmarked black van, Fornell and I jumped out and approached the agent.

"Fornell, FBI," Fornell said shortly, flashing his badge, "What's going on?"

"The suspect has been cornered in a warehouse two blocks down," the man said, pointing behind us, "We're waiting on confirmation before entering."

"What kind of confirmation?" I growled, stiffening when the agent looked to Fornell for permission before answering me.

"We have a person on the inside," he said, "Waiting for the go phrase."

Waiting on the… For Pete's sake!

"That's it," I snapped, turning to Fornell, "I'm not waiting. You got a problem with that; arrest me."

Before he could respond I ran towards the warehouse, my long stride eating up the pavement.

Hang on Angeline, I'm coming.

I'm coming.

-000-

I snuck in through the back, the agents painfully unaware as they paid attention to what was going on inside.

Crouching behind the splintered remains of a shipping crate, I took a deep breath and prepared to sprint to the next cover.

"You got a plan here?" a man asked, nearly in my ear.

I jumped, my finger curling around the trigger of the Glock in my hands before I registered who was crouching next to me.

Damn he was quiet for an old guy.

"Fornell," I whispered, "Do you want to get shot?"

He rolled his eyes.

"Apparently so. I followed you in here, didn't I?"

I sighed.

"Fine. Just… keep up."

He scoffed and raised his weapon.

-000-

Making it through the warehouse was the easy part.

Watching Angeline hold Daemon at knifepoint without doing anything- that was the hard part.

"Stay back," Fornell whispered, grabbing my arm as I started to stand and run to her side.

"But she's…"

"She's fine," Fornell corrected, "And they'll be here any second. You'll just get in the way if you try to do anything now."

The urge to go to her was nearly overwhelming, but he was right.

I had to wait.

It was almost over.

They entered with a bang.

And that's when it all went wrong.

Almost faster than I could follow, Daemon had Angeline in his arms.

The knife was at her throat.

"Don't even think about it," he said, holding her as a shield, the NCIS agents in a line in front of him.

No! Angeline! He'd… he'd… I had to do something, but Fornell had a tight grip on my arm.

The oldest agent, a man with piercing blue eyes and silvery-grey hair, lowered his weapon slightly and glared at Daemon.

"Let her go," he ordered, "You're not getting out of here."

"That's what you think," Daemon responded, backing away.

I glared over at Fornell, but he shook his head. I couldn't just sit here! I had to... Wait.

"Ziva," the grey-haired agent said quietly.

"I don't have a shot," the woman to his left murmured.

"No, you don't," Daemon said, "So back off. I'll kill her." He pressed the knife into Angeline's throat, forcing her head back.

I wished I could see her face. Let her know I was here.

But I couldn't. I had to wait, silently, until…

Until I had the shot.

Daemon backed further away and Ziva moved with him, stepping further left- towards his exposed side.

"Stop moving!" Daemon demanded. I could hear the fear in his voice.

"Ziva?" the agent asked again.

"Not yet," she answered, her dark gaze focused and very, very deadly.

Daemon took another step back and I aimed carefully.

I had to hit him just right.

I had to.

"Shoot him," Angeline said and I froze. Hearing her voice. It was like…

Hope.

"I don't have the shot!" Ziva said, half-frustrated, half-pleading.

"I do," I said as I fired.

He fell.

And so did she.

I didn't notice the guns pointed at me.

I barely heard Fornell screaming that it was okay.

All I saw was Angeline, on her knees, one hand balanced against the filthy cement floor, the other pressed to her throat.

And the blood.

Blood dripped from between her fingers, splashing to the floor like heavy, crimson raindrops.

"No," I breathed, stumbling towards her.

The knife. The knife at her throat.

What had I done?

The woman agent, Ziva, knelt next to her.

I reached towards them, needing to know how badly she was hurt, how deep the knife had…

A man blocked me, standing between Angeline and I, his eyes narrowed.

"Stop," he said, his voice low and dangerous even with his baby face.

I ignored him, moving to go around, to get to Angeline. She was all that mattered.

He grabbed my arm, stopping me.

I turned on him, ready to fight. Ready to go through him, too, if it meant I got Angeline back.

"Tim," Ziva said, and the man looked back at her.

My hackles rose further. Tim. This was the man who Angeline had wanted Juliet to call. This was the guy she looked to for help instead of me. My fists tightened.

"Look at him," Ziva said to Tim, her jaw jerking towards me even as she helped Angeline.

Tim looked at me. Another larger man, with hair that Shawn would die for, came over and stared at me also.

"Holy…" the larger man said, "You're dead!"

I rolled my eyes and moved towards Angeline, Tim blocking my path once again.

"Apparently not," I growled, "Now, get out of my way! She's my fiancé!"

With a last, narrowed-eyed look, Tim moved.

I fell down next to the two women, my hand hovering over Angeline's shoulder as I looked at Ziva.

"Is she…? Did I…?" I rasped, my voice closing off at the thought.

Ziva gave me a closed-lip smile.

"She'll be fine. It's just a scratch," Ziva said, lifting the gauze she held to Angeline's throat.

I saw a thin line of red that was already scabbing over and sighed in relief.

But why wouldn't Angeline look up, then? Why was her head bent down, eyes closed?

Her fingers were wrapped around something, and I saw that it was the thick, black collar she had been wearing earlier.

It was cut straight through.

I stopped breathing.

The knife had cut through the tough, thick leather like butter.

If it hadn't been there…

I would have killed her.

I felt the blood drain from my face, my lips numb.

"She'll be fine," Ziva repeated. She took my hand and raised it to Angeline's throat. I held the gauze there and she moved away, leaving us alone.

I shifted closer, my free hand wrapping around Angeline's icy, bare shoulder.

"Hey," I said softly, "You're freezing."

I slipped out of my jacket, carefully switching hands as I held the gauze still. I draped the warm material around her clumsily, but she still didn't move.

"Angeline, honey," I started awkwardly. What did I say? Sorry I almost killed you? Sorry I thought you were dead and left you in the hands of a man who…

I glanced over at Daemon's body. The grey-haired agent was standing next to the covered body, arguing with Fornell. At least it sounded like an argument, but the half-smile on both their faces didn't match the harsh words thrown back and forth.

The large man with great hair was flirting with Ziva. It wasn't obvious, but they stood a little too close for co-workers and he leaned over a little too far when he spoke to her, his hands nearly, but never quite, touching her.

Tim was still watching me warily.

I sighed and carefully pulled the gauze off.

Good. She'd stopped bleeding.

A glint of silver caught my attention and I leaned over further.

Was that? It was!

Gently touching the ring I'd given her, I nearly shuddered in relief.

She still loved me. She wouldn't have kept it if she didn't. Daemon hadn't taken that away from me. From us.

"Don't!" she whispered, jerking away.

I flinched back in surprise.

"Angeline?" I asked, touching her cheek and trying to get her to open her eyes.

"No, no, you're not real," she whispered, her voice quivering as her eyes stayed firmly shut.

I chuckled softly.

"Really? We're going to do this again? I thought once would be plenty," I teased gently, my thumb rubbing against her temple.

I felt her go absolutely still and then she cracked open her eyes, looking up at me.

"C-Carlton?" she breathed, her breath coming in short, panicked, pants.

"Yes," I said quietly.

"But… I saw him," her voice cracked and tears came to her eyes, "s-shoot you."

I tilted my head so she could see the still-healing scar on my temple.

"He did," I said, "But you saved me. You knocked off his aim just enough."

Her fingers touched the scar, delicately tracing it and brushing back the grey-speckled hair on my temple. I closed my eyes, reveling at the feel of her touch once again.

"Angeline," I whispered, opening my eyes, "I missed you."

"Oh, God, Carlton," she sobbed, throwing herself in my arms, "I missed you so, so much."

She clung tightly to me, her face buried in my shoulder as she cried. I rested my chin on her head and held her.

Angeline was alive.

She was okay.

And we were together.

Everything was just perfect.


	7. Chapter 7: Friday I'm in Love

AN: Chapter title from 'Friday I'm in Love' by The Cure.

"Monday you can fall apart. Tuesday, Wednesday break my heart. Oh, Thursday doesn't even start. It's Friday; I'm in love."

**Chapter 7: Friday I'm in Love**

"Shoot him!" I said, wincing as Daemon tightened his grip, the knife pressed tightly to my throat.

I glared at Ziva, trying to get through to her that it didn't matter. I didn't matter. All that was important was taking him out. He had to die. If I went down with him, then so be it.

I was ready.

"I don't have the shot!" she said, and I saw the conflict in her eyes.

She didn't understand.

No one did.

I prepared myself.

I'd have to do it. They'd only shoot him if I was out of the way.

So, I'd get out of the way.

The blade was razor-sharp against the soft skin below my chin. It wouldn't hurt. If I moved fast enough, I wouldn't even feel it.

They wouldn't miss me. No one would.

"I do."

I didn't hear the bullet.

I didn't feel him fall.

I didn't even feel the knife move against my throat.

All I heard was his voice.

His impossibly alive voice.

Falling to the floor I caught myself by instinct, my eyes shutting against the world as I captured and replayed those two simple words.

I do.

Vaguely, I felt someone pry my hand away from my throat and replace it with something soft.

But I wouldn't be distracted. I'd heard him. After a long, long silence, I'd finally heard him. I could hear him still, growling and posturing. His irritated, fear-filled anger was so familiar, so real that I could almost believe it wasn't just some misfiring of electricity in my brain, some aberration springing from a combination of hopelessness and desperate, desperate desire.

And then it got better.

I heard the tone I'd longed for, the soft, gentle voice that only I got to hear. It covered me like a soft blanket, his scent wafting over me, surrounding me, making me warm.

I didn't open my eyes. As long as I kept them shut, the dream would continue. He'd be here with me.

I wouldn't be alone.

The light pressure on my throat disappeared. I swallowed; surprised by the lack of pain, by how bare it felt.

My collar was gone. I only dimly registered that I held it in my hand and wondered, with a kind of aimless curiosity, how I'd managed to remove it.

Then someone touched my ring.

"Don't!" I said, my voice nothing but a whisper in fear of breaking the last threads of the dream.

He called my name, his voice as soft and gentle as I remembered.

His warm, calloused hand was on my cheek; so different from Daemon's rough, cold grip.

"No, no, you're not real," I denied, fighting back tears even as I railed against my brain's deception.

He chuckled and my heart skipped a beat.

"Really? We're going to do this again? I thought once would be plenty," he said, his thumb rubbing circles above my ear.

I had to know. I had to. If I let myself fall any further into this dream world, I'd never want to awaken.

I forced open my eyes, steeling myself for supreme disappointment.

"C-Carlton?"

It was him. He was here, right in front of me.

His blue, blue eyes looked into mine, his warm hand still on my face.

Tie askew, holster unsnapped, and shirt wrinkled; he was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.

"Yes," he said quietly, as if agreeing with me.

"But… I saw him," I said, still denying what my eyes were telling me, my voice nearly unable to function, "s-shoot you."

He tilted his head and leaned down and I saw a long, pink scar peeking out from under the short hair of his temple.

"He did," he said, "But you saved me. You knocked off his aim just enough."

Just enough. I did just enough. Still unable to believe it, I reached tentatively towards him, tracing the delicate, healing skin with my fingers.

"Angeline," he whispered, "I missed you."

He missed me. He was here. He'd found me. And he was gloriously, wondrously alive.

"Oh, God, Carlton," I sobbed, throwing myself into his arms, "I missed you so, so much."

I inhaled his scent, all leather and gunpowder and juniper and coffee. Wonderful and unique and so him that I couldn't hold back my tears.

He just held me, his arms tight around me as we sat on the cold, dirty cement floor.

And I was finally warm.

-000-

I wrapped Carlton's jacket tighter around myself and leaned against the wall, mostly hidden by the jagged edges of a broken box.

They'd pulled Carlton aside. Some issue about paperwork and jurisdiction and extenuating circumstances. I could see him from my position, hunched over a small pile of forms, scribbling frantically and glancing up from time to time to make sure I was still here.

Tim and Ziva took turns watching me, their observant eyes making sure I wasn't about to pass out or something, I guess.

But I was fine. Too fine. My head was clearing rapidly, despite the whirlwind of events.

Daemon was dead.

I felt nothing but relief and a vague sense of justice.

Carlton was alive.

I felt so much I couldn't separate it all.

Relief. Joy. Panic. Dread. Fear.

I felt both desperately happy and more alone then I'd ever been before.

Because this time it was by choice.

I couldn't, but I had to.

I loved him so much. So much that it was just enough.

Just enough that I knew what I had to do.

But not today. Today I would be selfish. Today I would be warm. Today.

And tomorrow I would die.

He finished the last of the paperwork with a hurried scribble and stood, handing it to Gibbs.

"Can we go now?" Carlton asked impatiently, reminding me of Shawn as he shifted from side to side.

I stifled a deep sigh. Shawn. Henry. If only…

"Go. But stay in town for a couple days, just in case the lawyers need something," Gibbs said, nodding towards me.

"Fine," Carlton acknowledged, turning towards the grey-haired agent that Gibbs had been talking to earlier.

"Thanks for your help, Fornell," Carlton said, shaking the man's hand.

"Glad you found your girl," Fornell responded, glancing over at me with a grin, "Here," he said, handing Carlton a set of car keys, "I'll hitch a ride."

Carlton turned towards me, joy lighting up his eyes. He strode towards me.

"Let's get out of here," he said, taking my hand and bringing me close to his side.

He led me out of the warehouse and down a couple blocks, his arm wrapping around my shoulders as we walked.

"Let's stop here," he said, "and get you some new clothes."

A small boutique was tucked away and we went inside, the door jingling merrily.

I picked out a couple pairs of jeans, some shirts, a warm jacket and a pair of low-heeled boots.

When we got up to the register, I turned to Carlton.

"Can I pay for them?" I asked softly.

He looked down at me, his head cocked.

"Sure, I guess. If you want to," he said, pulling out my wallet and handing it to me.

I looked at him in surprise. He had my wallet with him? I thought maybe a check or something.

"Just in case," he said with a small shrug.

I looked down at the pink bit of leather and smiled.

The lady let me change in the dressing room before we left and I gave Carlton back his coat, snuggling into the faux fur of my new one.

"Better?" he asked.

"Much," I said, grinning up at him.

I felt human again. Like the last three weeks had never happened. We were just a happy couple, going shopping and walking back to our car. Safe and normal: with our whole lives ahead of us.

I wasn't going to think about tomorrow.

"So," Carlton said as we got into the car, the heater roaring, "Where do you want to go?"

A choice? I had a choice!

"Um… I'm kind of hungry," I said, remembering the bit of dry Danish I'd nibbled at this morning. Was it only a few hours ago? It seemed like days.

Carlton smiled at me.

"Lunch it is, then."

-000-

We had lunch. We saw some sights. He was perfect and wonderful and everything I could have hoped for.

And my heart broke a little more every minute.

How could I live without this? How could I not?

We sat on the stairs beneath the Lincoln Memorial, staring out at the reflecting pond, the Washington Monument spiking high into the clear, blue winter sky.

I leaned back against Carlton's chest, his arms around me as infrequent visitors' steps echoed quietly against the marble pillars.

"I need to call O'Hara and Henry and let them know you're safe," Carlton said softly, shifting to reach the phone in his pocket.

I stiffened and turned abruptly, my fingers clenching around his knee.

"Henry's alive?" I asked, my voice tight.

"Of course," Carlton said, his brow furrowed, "Why wouldn't he be?"

"And Shawn, he's alive too?"

"Yes," Carlton said, his voice rising in question.

I covered my mouth with my hands, a shuddering sigh escaping me.

Alive. Alive. They were alive.

"He lied," I whispered.

"Who lied? About what?" Carlton asked, frustrated and thoroughly confused.

"Daemon told me he'd killed them," I said softly, my hands folded in my lap as I turned away.

"Why would he…?" Carlton asked, his voice trailing off as his quick mind connected the dots.

I could practically see the fire in his eyes when he understood, his palm slapping against the stairs.

"That son of a…! He didn't want you to have anywhere to turn, did he? No wonder you called O'Hara!"

So they did get the call. I hadn't asked how he'd found me, but he must have traced the number.

By now the sun was beginning to set, the short winter day growing colder, and I shivered.

"Let's go," Carlton said softly, snapping his phone shut.

I'd spoken briefly to Henry and said hi to Juliet and Carlton had explained that we had to stay around for a couple days before we could come home.

He didn't know. Not yet. I wasn't coming home.

I wouldn't tell him today.

Fighting back the last of my anger at Daemon's lies, I took Carlton's hand.

We had a life to live today.

-000-

We went to dinner, and then afterwards he danced with me.

So different from the insistent, throbbing rhythm of the clubs, the men there, Carlton held me gently, respectfully. We danced close and moved slowly, the music almost a reflection of our movements rather than something we conformed to.

When we tired of that, we went to the hotel.

If it hadn't been the last chance I'd ever have, I would have been afraid. Afraid to let him see what three weeks had done to me. Afraid to break his heart.

But tomorrow was soon enough for that.

Instead, I hardly let him shut the door before I started kissing him.

My hands around his holster, I yanked him back towards the bed before he could turn on the lights.

He fell on top of me, my legs wrapping around his before he could roll off.

"Angeline," he moaned breathlessly, fighting to shed the leather holster even as he spoke, "Don't you think we should talk…" he gasped as I nipped his neck, "Before we…"

I silenced him with a harsh kiss, my fingers digging into the back of his skull.

"Not tonight," I said, pulling away, "Tomorrow is soon enough."

He looked ready to protest further, and I knew that he'd keep at it forever if I didn't distract him quickly.

"Please, Carlton," I said softly, "I need you."

He looked down at me and, even in the dark, I could see the love in his eyes.

"You have me," he said, kissing me gently, softly, deeply.


	8. Chapter 8: Big Girls Don't Cry

AN: Chapter title from 'Big Girls Don't Cry' by Fergie.

"Fairy tales don't always have a happy ending, do they? And I foresee the dark ahead if I stay. And I'm gonna miss you like a child misses their blanket, but I've got to get a move on with my life. It's time to be a big girl now. And big girls don't cry."

**Chapter 8: Big Girls Don't Cry**

We made love twice before he finally fell asleep. I'd been up for two days, but it didn't matter. I couldn't sleep now. The sun was coming up, the first glints lighting the room as they cut though the blinds.

I studied him. The planes and angles of his face. The strong jaw. The crooked nose. Thin, soft lips. The grey-spotted sideburns that framed the slightly large ears. Dark brows and long eyelashes, the startlingly blue eyes closed in peaceful sleep. I looked down to his chest, bare in the toasty room, the salt-and-pepper hair curling wildly in a thick patch almost obscuring the well-defined muscles below. The hair narrowed to a thin trail as my eyes traced down his stomach, lean and strong, down further to where the sheet tangled low across his narrow hips. I touched his hand, resting across my stomach, and wondered at the length of his narrow fingers, the softness despite the calluses.

I tried to memorize his feel, his smell, his presence in these last few moments I had with him.

I thought of writing a letter. Leaving it on his pillow and simply disappearing. But it wouldn't work. He wouldn't let it work. He'd never stop looking for me and I couldn't have him wasting his life like that.

I tried to be quiet as I left our bed and slipped into the bathroom. Hopefully he'd be too tired to join me in the shower. I wanted him to remember me the way I was. He didn't need to see what these weeks away had done to me. He didn't need the guilt.

I only hoped that when I told him what I had to that he'd let it be. That he'd accept it. If he didn't…

I didn't want to hurt him anymore.

I stepped into the hot shower, steam immediately filling the tiny space.

And yet, I could feel the warmth leaving me.

I finished in the shower and re-braided my hair. I'd have to get it cut. I knew Carlton liked it long, but it was too hard to manage. Just one more thing.

Wrapping the small, scratchy towel around myself, I slipped back into the bedroom, hoping to get my clothes on before…

"Angeline," Carlton called quietly, sitting up on the edge of the bed.

The light from the window streamed in through the blinds behind him, making him look like he was glowing. Like an angel or a saint.

Saint Carlton. It almost fit. Not sinless, no, but still perfect in his way. Such a far cry from my own darkness.

"Carlton," I answered noncommittally, moving towards the bag that held my clothes.

He grabbed my arm and turned me towards him. I flinched a little at the sudden movement.

"Hey," he said soothingly, his grip loosening, "it's okay."

"I know," I said, forcing a small smile. It wasn't okay. It'd never be okay again.

He reached up, frowning, and touched the small scar beneath my chin. Not the new cut, lower and thinner, but the old one. The one Daemon had given me three weeks ago.

"What's this?" he asked.

"Nothing," I muttered, turning away.

"Angeline," Carlton said, standing, "Tell me, please." His voice bordered on an order, but the guilty frown on his face let me know what he was thinking. The bad thing was that he was right. The worse thing was that there was more.

I didn't want to deal with this. I'd hoped to be dressed before he woke up. Hoped this conversation would never have to happen. But I should have known he'd be too observant for that.

"Daemon," I said softly as I picked up my bra and panties.

"When?" he asked, his voice tight.

"Right away. In the woods," I said, my hands clenching as I tried to block the memory of that hopeless night when everything changed.

He nodded, his eyes haunted.

"I went there," he said, "I knew… But there was more blood," he said, looking at me, suddenly puzzled.

I sighed and let my towel fall.

His eyes immediately saw what the darkness had hidden last night.

His long fingers brushed against the small scar above my left breast and I hissed in pain.

He jerked away.

"Sorry," I whispered, "Too deep. Hasn't healed yet."

"Too…" he repeated, his hand clenching at his side.

I put on my bra and slipped into my panties. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I started to pull on my jeans, sighing as Carlton's hand encircled my wrist; stopping me from pulling them all the way up.

I looked up at him but he was staring down at the scar on the inside of my thigh.

"Was he trying to kill you?" he rasped, "Jugular, aorta, femoral artery," he said, pointing to each in turn.

I shrugged. Trying to? No. He would have. He was letting me know just how easy it would be. Just how little effort it would take for him to end my life.

I pulled my wrist from his loose grip and fastened my jeans. Slipping on a t-shirt, I leaned down and pulled on my boots.

"Angeline, please talk to me," Carlton implored as he donned his own clothes.

I didn't want to. The minute I told him what I needed to…

Oh, God, I didn't want to do this.

"I'm leaving, Carlton," I said softly, neatly folding the small pile of clothes I'd worn yesterday and placing them in the plastic bag that held everything I owned.

"Leaving? We can't go yet. You heard Gibbs; we have to stay in town until tomorrow at least."

I set the bag down next to the door and made sure I knew where my coat was. Good. It was hanging on the back of the door, ready to go. I unfastened my necklace; the ring cold between my fingers.

I turned towards Carlton and took a deep breath.

"No, Carlton, you don't understand. I'm not going home."

"Not…? What are you talking about?" he asked, his voice rising as he shook his head.

"I'm…" my voice gave out and I swallowed, "I'm breaking up with you," I said, handing him the necklace and ring.

His eyes flashed grey in shock and then darkened in anger, his long fingers closing around the tiny ring.

"What are you saying?" he asked, his voice rough, "I just found you."

"I know, Carlton!" I shouted, unable to hold back my emotions so I twisted them into anger, "It took you three weeks to find me! Three weeks! What do you think I was doing all that time? Throwing tea parties?"

"I… I…" he stuttered, fist clenching.

"I was with men, Carlton, lots of men. It wouldn't be right for me to stay with you after…"

"Damn it, Angeline! Is that all?" he roared, making me flinch back in surprise, "It didn't bother me before, and it doesn't bother me now! Well, it does for your sake, but not for me! Never for me! Do you think I thought you wanted those men? Wanted to do what you did? I know you didn't!"

"What if I did?" I shouted back, angry tears hastily wiped away.

"I know you," Carlton said, his voice lowering back to normal volume, "I know you."

Damn the man. I knew he wouldn't make this easy.

"I can't have kids," I said, the hopelessness creeping into my voice despite my best efforts, "I can never have kids."

"How do you…?" Carlton started to ask, concern and worry heavy in his voice.

"The doctor at NCIS. He… I…" I unzipped my jeans and pulled them aside roughly, showing him the faint surgical scars.

"I'd forgotten," I whispered, "that the doctor had come. That he took…"

"Oh, Angeline," he said quietly, reaching towards me.

I pulled away and zipped up my pants.

"I know you wanted kids. I can't give them to you. It isn't fair to stay."

He was silent for long moments and I thought that I'd finally gotten through to him. That he finally understood why I had to leave. And then he spoke.

"Angeline, I love you. We can adopt. We don't even have to have kids if you don't want them. I love you. I want you. Nothing else," he said, his hand held out; the ring shining in it.

I shuddered. I didn't want to lie to him. I didn't want to hurt him this badly. But I had to. If he was ever going to move on, I had to.

"I want to be free, Carlton," I said, my voice cold, "I've been trapped by men long enough. I'm not going to be controlled anymore."

He cringed away, taking a step back.

"I'm trapping you? I thought…" he whispered.

I laughed bitterly.

"You're the worst of all. What do they call it? The gilded cage," I spat, tamping down on the urge to comfort him as I saw how my words stung.

"I won't… I'll let you do whatever you think you need to," he said, practically begging, "Just don't go."

I was breathless; pain like a vise around my heart. I'd brought down this strong, good man. Reduced him to pleading with me to stay. I'd broken him. I'd already done what I never wanted to do.

"I can't stay," I said softly, turning away so he didn't see the tears in my eyes.

"Goodbye, Carlton."

I pulled on my coat, picked up my bag, and left. I didn't look back.


	9. Chapter 9: At This Moment

AN: Just the last chapter from Carlton's POV.

Chapter title from 'At This Moment' by Michael Buble.

"What did you think I would say at this moment when I'm faced with knowledge that you just don't love me? Did you think I could curse you or say things to hurt you 'cause you just don't love me no more? Did you think I could I hate you or raise my hands to you? Oh, come on, you know me too well. How could I hurt you when darling, I love you?"

**Chapter 9: At This Moment**

I heard the shower turn on but I was too tired to get up.

Physically I was fine. Emotionally was another story. I felt my walls crumbling, leaving behind gaping holes that I tried to fill with the knowledge that she was here. She was safe. She was alive.

Somehow, they wouldn't fill. I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. For the dream to end and I would wake up cold and alone in my bed.

Maybe I should get up. Comfort myself by taking her in my arms again, feeling her around me, in me, with me.

The shower turned off before I could make up my mind.

I sat up with a sigh, my bare feet scraping across the cheap, rough carpet as I sat on the edge of the bed.

She came out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel and my breath left me.

I flashed back to that first morning. The first time we'd made love and I saw her standing in the doorway, inviting me to join her. The first moment I knew we were more than ships passing in the night.

"Angeline," I said, my voice rough and quiet, still back in that perfect moment.

She looked at me oddly and I wondered what she was thinking. Finally she moved.

"Carlton," she said, her voice inflectionless as she started to reach for her bag.

What was wrong? Had I done something? Hurt her? I knew we should have talked first, but she was so insistent… I should have made her.

With that thought, I reached out and grabbed her arm, to bring her around, to make her look at me, deal with what was bothering her.

She flinched and I immediately loosened my grip, internally cursing myself. I'd forgotten how fearful she could be, how nervous. I'm sure that being with Daemon for so long hadn't helped.

"Hey, it's okay," I reassured her, trying to read her face.

"I know," she responded, a pained smile obviously forced. She looked away and I saw something.

"What's this?" I asked, touching the pink-white scarring under her chin. It wasn't from yesterday- it was too old, too healed.

"Nothing," she said quietly, turning away from me.

I stood, anxiety gripping me. How much had happened in the last three weeks?

"Angeline, tell me, please," I asked, my voice tight as I frowned. I had to know. I had to. I should have done more to protect her, to find her. Whatever had happened, it was all my fault.

"Daemon," she said simply, fiddling with her clothes.

"When?" I asked, thinking about the blood, all the blood and how could I have forgotten that all that blood had to have come from somewhere?

"Right away. In the woods," she said, her fists clenching around the clothes in her hands. Her voice kept that toneless quality, but I could hear the pain, the fear beneath.

"I went there," I said, nodding sharply, "I knew…" Knew she'd been hurt. Thought she was dead. Knew there was no hope, never any hope.

"But there was more blood," I said questioningly, looking at her and calculating how much blood the small cut could have been capable of, no matter how close it had come to her jugular. There had to be more, or worse, or both.

She sighed and let the towel fall from her body.

In the harsh light that filtered through the blinds I saw. I saw the scars that had always been there, had been part of my mental map of her body. And I saw the new scar, over the crest of her breast.

I touched it, the scar hot and rough beneath my fingers and I wondered how I'd missed it even in the dark. She hissed and drew back in pain and I jerked away.

It hurt her? Still? But it looked as old as the other scar, as healed, at least on the surface.

"Sorry," she whispered, "Too deep. Hasn't healed yet."

"Too…" deep. Depth. Pain. Suffering. My hands clenched as I fought to keep myself from reacting too strongly to the image that appeared in my mind.

Daemon hovering over her, his knife dripping with her blood, crimson painting her throat as he slid the sharp point of his knife into her chest, slowly, oh so slowly so she could feel every centimeter, every moment of pain until he punctured her heart.

How deep had he gone? How close had he gotten?

I looked down at her, sitting on the edge of the bed next to me. She'd put on her undergarments while I'd stood there, frozen in thought. Now she was slipping on her jeans, trying to cover up one last nail in my coffin.

My fingers wrapped around her wrist, stopping her as she sat partially undressed, her jeans around her knees.

Another scar, inside of her thigh. Long and pink against the creamy white skin there, I cringed internally at the thought of how much that would hurt; to be cut there, slowly, while Daemon watched and laughed. And so incredibly dangerous.

"Was he trying to kill you?" I rasped, my voice catching, "Jugular, aorta, femoral artery," I said, pointing to each vital artery in turn. An inch deeper in even one of these and she'd be gone. Dead, like I thought she was. Blood, blood, so much blood.

She shrugged and pulled from my loose grip, my fingers numb as I swallowed back the bile that threatened.

She was digging around in her bag when it registered, finally, that she was getting dressed. Moving only by instinct, I started to pull on whatever I could find, still fighting the images that assailed me.

She pulled on her boots and I slipped into my own shoes, shrugging on the holster.

She stood and I fought the urge to grab her again, to make her look at me, talk to me. What was she thinking? What could I do to help her?

"Angeline, please talk to me," I said, quickly tying my shoelaces.

She didn't look at me. Instead, she folded the clothes from yesterday, tying the plastic bag shut tightly.

"I'm leaving, Carlton," she said quietly, standing, the bag of clothes in her hand.

"Leaving?" I asked. What did she mean? "We can't go yet. You heard Gibbs; we have to stay in town until tomorrow at least."

I watched, confused, as she moved to the door, her back to me. If only she'd look at me, talk to me, maybe I'd understand what she was thinking. The more she avoided me, the more my fear grew.

Finally she turned towards me, her face stony.

"No, Carlton, you don't understand. I'm not going home," she said.

"Not…? What are you talking about?" I stuttered, my voice coming out higher than I would like as my throat tightened. She couldn't mean what I though she did. She couldn't. Not again. I shook my head. Not again. It couldn't happen again. My heart couldn't take it.

"I'm…" she swallowed, "I'm breaking up with you," she said, handing me her silver necklace and the ring I'd given her. Our engagement ring. The same ring she'd kept the whole time Daemon had her. The same ring I'd though meant she still…

"What are you saying?" I asked, forcing out words through the hurt, "I just found you." I just found out you were still alive. I just allowed myself to hope, to love again. What are you saying? Why are you doing this? Why don't you love me anymore?

"I know, Carlton!" she shouted angrily and I almost flinched back in surprise. She never shouted, "It took you three weeks to find me! Three weeks! What do you think I was doing all that time? Throwing tea parties?"

"I… I…" I stuttered, fist clenching around the ring as I thought and I felt and I knew, I knew I hadn't done enough and it was all my fault and I was never good enough, fast enough. I could have saved her. I should have. But I didn't, and now…

"I was with men, Carlton, lots of men. It wouldn't be right for me to stay with you after…" she said, and I could hear the pain in her voice, the disgust with herself as her voice faded out to a whisper.

Wouldn't be right. Right for who? Did she really think I was so shallow? So intolerant? Didn't she know me at all?

"Damn it, Angeline! Is that all?" I roared, making her flinch back, "It didn't bother me before, and it doesn't bother me now! Well, it does for your sake, but not for me! Never for me! Do you think I thought you wanted those men? Wanted to do what you did? I know you didn't!"

"What if I did?" she shouted back, trying to wipe the tears away before I saw them.

"I know you," I said, my voice lowering back to normal volume, "I know you." She couldn't fool me. Not again. I knew her now. Knew she would never choose, willingly, to go back to that life.

"I can't have kids," she said suddenly, the change in subject startling me, "I can never have kids."

"How do you…?" I asked. How did she find out? Did… did Daemon do something more? Did he have someone…

"The doctor at NCIS. He… I…" she said, interrupting my horrified mental rambling. She unzipped her jeans and pulled them aside roughly, and I could see faint surgical scars.

Old scars. But if there were old, then why hadn't she told me before?

"I'd forgotten," she whispered, "that the doctor had come. That he took…" she looked away, tears building in her eyes and I wanted so much to take in my arms.

"Oh, Angeline," I said quietly, reaching towards her.

She pulled away and zipped up her pants.

"I know you wanted kids. I can't give them to you. It isn't fair to stay," she said, her voice barely audible.

She couldn't have kids. Part of me wanted to get angry. Angry at her brother and the doctor that did this to her. To us. But I knew that if I gave into the anger now, she'd think I was mad at her. So I held it in. Tamped it down. Forced back the fury and sickness and urge to go out and find and shoot the sick twist that agreed to do surgery in a dusty basement to a young girl. To remove something so essential, so life altering.

Of course I wanted kids. She knew that. She knew that, despite my frequently gruff demeanor, I had a soft spot for children. And it wasn't like all hope was lost. I knew lots of kids that needed good, stable homes. And if she didn't want to do that then…

I loved her. Just her. Not what she could or couldn't give me. Not anything else.

My mental voice (that sounded suspiciously like my partner) prodded me to speak.

"Angeline, I love you. We can adopt. We don't even have to have kids if you don't want them. I love you. I want you. Nothing else," I said, holding out the ring, and my heart with it.

I stood there, waiting as she stared down at the floor, her hand practically on the doorknob.

When she looked up, my heart sank.

There was no love in her eyes.

"I want to be free, Carlton," she said, her voice cold, "I've been trapped by men long enough. I'm not going to be controlled anymore."

I cringed away, taking a step back.

"I'm trapping you? I thought…" I whispered.

I thought you loved me. That you wanted to be with me. That I wasn't just another man. I thought I could give you enough.

She laughed and I couldn't breathe.

"You're the worst of all. What do they call it? The gilded cage," she said. My heart froze in my chest.

"I won't…" Trap you. Cage you. Keep you. "I'll let you do whatever you think you need to," I said, "Just don't go," I begged; letting myself show more vulnerability, more weakness than I'd ever let anyone else see. She had to stay. I could change. I could let her be free and still love her.

"I can't stay," she said, turning towards the door, "Goodbye, Carlton."

She pulled on her coat, picked up her bag, and left. She didn't look back.

When the door shut behind her I thought I would die.

The pain in my chest literally brought me to my knees and I fell to the floor.

I hurt too much to cry.

She'd left. Just like Victoria. Just like Lucinda.

They all left.

I was all alone, again.

I'd found her and lost her and found her again, but too late. Always too late.

I was too late to save her from Daemon the first time. I was too late to keep her from getting sick the second time. I was too late to keep her from getting taken the third time. And this, the last time, when I'd thought that, at last, I'd finally come in time.

I was too late.


	10. Chapter 10: Without You

AN: Chapter title from David Guetta's 'Without You'

"Can't erase, so I'll take blame, but I can't accept that we're estranged. If you're not here, I'm paralyzed without you, without you. I can't look, I'm so blind. I lost my heart, I lost my mind, without you."

**Chapter 10: Without You**

I don't know how long I sat there.

Usually I threw myself into work to escape feeling, thinking, having to deal with things.

But here, I couldn't. I was left with nothing to do but think.

I'd done so much wrong… But it still wasn't fair.

It wasn't right that she did this to me. To us. I wasn't trapping her. I loved her. I did everything I could to show her that. I gave her every opportunity to leave, to make her own life, and before this she'd seemed happy.

I hated her.

I hated that she could hurt me this badly. I'd sworn, I'd promised I'd never let another woman hurt me like this. But she had and I hated her for it.

She'd used me far more than I had ever used her. She'd conned me, she'd tricked me into letting her in, and now she wanted to be free?

Damn her. Damn them all. The whole female sex and their games. Give me something I could shoot, someone I could arrest. Something I could control.

There was a knock at the door.

I glared over at it, just now realizing that I was on my feet and pacing wildly, the ring still clutched in a white-knuckled grip.

"What?" I growled as I flung open the door, glowering at the NCIS agent, Tim, as he frowned at me.

"I need to speak with Angel," he said.

"Too bad," I snapped, attempting to shut the door.

His palm smacked loudly against it as he held it open and leaned forward, peering into the hotel room.

"I'm not leaving until I talk to her," he said firmly, glaring at me.

"She's not here," I snarled, pushing at the door once more.

"Where is she?" Tim asked, stepping towards me and forcing me to take a step back into the room. His hand was resting on his holster as he quickly strode to the open bathroom and then turned on me.

"I told you," I forced out through gritted teeth, resisting the urge to grip my own weapon, "She's not here."

"Where is she?" Tim asked, stalking close and attempting to intimidate me, "What have you done to her?"

I laughed darkly.

"She left," I said, hatred oozing from my voice, "She left because I was trapping her. Controlling her. Keeping her from something," I laughed again, "You see how controlling I am?"

"When did she leave? Where did she go?" Tim asked, frowning deeply as he looked towards the door.

"A while ago. I don't know. I don't know anything," I said, feeling suddenly tired. I sat down on the edge of the bed and stared at my fist, the silver chain swaying through my fingers.

After a few moments of silence, Tim sat down next to me, looking out the open doorway.

"What's that?" he asked quietly, gesturing towards the chain.

I forced open my fist, fingers cramped from misuse.

"I told you," I said, "She left. For good." I was surprised that my voice came out so calm, so emotionless.

How could my voice not betray the pain and anger I felt?

I glanced over at Tim, who was looking thoughtfully at me.

"You love Angel, don't you?" he asked.

"Her name is Angeline," I growled, "Quit calling her that."

"Why?"

I threw him an annoyed glare.

"Because that's what Daemon and her brother and everyone who ever hurt her called her. It's not her name."

"Oh," he said softly with a nod, "I see."

I scoffed. He saw nothing. He was just another Fed with an overprotective streak.

"Do you know how I met Angeline?" he asked.

I shook my head. No I didn't, but I'm sure I'm going to hear about it now.

"I was undercover with a group of game programmers," he said, "All single men, of course, and the boss decided we needed some companionship. So he found Angeline."

"Found?" I asked, my throat closing up at the thought.

"She didn't tell you anything, did she?" he asked.

"No," I said, shaking my head, "I wanted to talk, but she…" I fell silent, unable to finish the thought. She didn't want to tell me. She didn't want to deal with me.

"I didn't even know anything about it at first," he continued, "I was trying to follow an online paper trail and didn't come out of my office for days at a time. It was the second day she was there before we were introduced."

"Second day?" I asked, glancing over at him. I thought hookers only stayed a couple of hours. Long enough to 'serve' a few guys.

"There were a dozen of us all together," Tim said and I paled at the thought, "So John had apparently rented her for three nights. To give us all the proper amount of time."

I ran my hands over my face with a shudder. Angeline rented out like… Like a pony at a children's party.

"She's one of the nicest people I've ever met," Tim said quietly, "And the most loyal."

I flinched and sucked in a breath, feeling like I'd been punched in the solar plexus. Loyal. How loyal could she be? I tried to bring the hatred back, but all that came was pain.

"I saw Daemon. I saw how he treated her," Tim said, anger clear in his voice. I looked over at him, astonished by the malevolence I read in his expression.

"When he came to pick her up," Tim continued, standing and pacing in front of me, "he treated her like an animal. He had her strip and circled around her like a vulture, looking for 'damage'," his fists clenched, "Like she was furniture. And then, when he allowed her to get dressed, he put her on a leash." Tim stopped pacing and turned towards me.

I had stood, I didn't know when, and I was shaking like a leaf.

A leash.

The word, the image echoed in my mind. If Daemon had treated her like that in public, when he was trying to sell her, then how much worse had she been treated in private? I'd thought the collar a decoration, a gothic façade.

But it was worse than that. Way worse. She'd been physically controlled, led around like a disobedient puppy.

"When Metro brought her in I thought she'd finally turned on him. Finally killed him," Tim said, "But I was going to defend her anyway. Because she's worth it."

I looked at Tim, my eyes wide. I knew that tone. It was one I'd heard in my own voice every time I…

"Did you sleep with her?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Of course not," Tim said angrily, "But I care about her. More than you do, apparently."

Anger rose in me like a red tide.

"Shut up! No one could care about her more than I do! No one could love her more!" I yelled, practically bumping chests as I strode up to him.

"Then quit moping around and do something about it!" Tim yelled back.

"What am I supposed to do? She left me!"

"Find her! Win her back! Fight for her, damn it!" Tim said with a growl, "She's worth it, isn't she?"

"Yes!" I snarled back, "She's worth it. She's worth it all."

"Then go get her," he said, his voice quiet as he handed me my jacket and bag.

I threw on my coat, grabbed my keys, and strode out the door.

I'd find her. I'd talk to her. I'd get her back. She was mine and I was hers and that's all there was to it.

The whispered threat only drove me to walk faster.

"Or I will," I heard Tim say just before the wind picked up and snow began to fall.


	11. Chapter 11: It's You or No One

AN: Chapter title from 'It's You or No One' by Doris Day from _Romance on the High Seas_.

"My world's an empty world without you. It's you or no one for me."

**Chapter 11: It's You or No One**

I couldn't find her.

I searched for three days without any sign of her.

I had access to her bank account so I watched for activity, but, aside from the $600 withdrawal the day she left, there were no transactions.

She was just gone.

I found out from Tim where the reports had come from and where the gamers had stayed.

The gamers' complex was vacant. No sign of her.

I went to every club the minute they opened, sleepless nights spent asking questions and getting answers I'd never wanted to hear.

Yes, they'd seen her. No, not in the last few days.

I tried to disregard the insinuations, the flagrant lust I saw in their eyes. I almost drew my gun in one particularly seedy bar, but managed, somehow, to restrain myself.

I only knocked him out.

Exhausted and frustrated, I fell asleep just as the dawn rose on the 31st of December.

I roused by late afternoon and checked her account again. More out of habit than any real hope.

New York.

There was a pending charge in New York, made only minutes ago.

The Times Square area. What on Earth would she be doing there?

I was dressed and in the car before it dawned on me.

Tonight was New Year's Eve. In New York, where else would you be but in Times Square?

But how would I find her in that huge mass of people? Would I even make it there in time?

According to the GPS, it would take me four and a half hours, minimum.

I drove like a maniac.

I made it there in a little over four hours, which gave me only minutes before midnight.

The gloomy sky dripped down snow sparingly, not covering the well-trodden cement enough to muffle steps or prevent the echoing, raucous calls of the crowd from beating against my eardrums. Even before I abandoned my rental car in a tow-away zone and ran towards Times Square, I knew it was a hopeless endeavor.

If I didn't find her tonight…

For some reason this seemed like my last chance. Like the last bell of the year would signal the end of everything we'd built and hoped for.

I pushed into the maddening crowd, my height offering some advantage as I searched for Angeline.

I couldn't see her. There were too many, pushing close, apparently forgetting any desire for personal space or decency. I spotted a few pickpockets and flashed my gun at them when they drew too close. Finally taking shelter in a dimly-lit alley, I ran a hand through my hair.

Impossible. It was utterly impossible. Even if I stood at the top of the brightly lit ball and searched the crowd from there… It would still be hopeless. I'd failed.

My phone buzzed against my hip.

With a frustrated sigh, I yanked it from its holster and squinted down, eyes adjusting to the bright screen.

'New transaction' it blinked at me.

I quickly clicked on the link, thankful I'd thought to set up automatic notifications on her account.

'One new charge at Empire State Building'.

My heart stopped. Of course! Why didn't I think of that before now? She didn't like crowds any more than I did. And we'd watched that old movie, what seemed like eons ago, where the characters had gone to the top of the Empire State Building to…

Too much thinking and not enough movement. It was already 11:30. The Empire State Building was a little over a mile away, in the opposite direction of my car, of course.

I ran.

Thankful for a job that kept in shape, I ran for all I was worth. I'd have blisters on my heels and my jacket would be permanently sweat-stained, but I could make it. I had to.

-000-

I was lost.

I didn't know what to do with myself. I'd never been alone, not really.

What did people do? Normal people?

I stood in the lobby of the small hotel, unsure where to go next.

"Do you need help, Sweetie?" the elderly receptionist asked me, pushing her curly, blue-grey hair out of her eyes.

"I... I don't really know where to go from here," I said honestly.

She smiled at me and came around the counter, taking my arm.

"Didn't plan ahead? That's okay! Best way to do a vacation, I think. Just go where the wind takes you."

We stopped next to a bookcase filled with flyers.

"Take a look and see what tickles your fancy," the woman said kindly, "Then come talk to me and I'll tell you the best way to get there."

"Thank you," I said with a small smile.

Dolores and I poured over the small pile of flyers that looked interesting. She scoffed at a couple, calling them overpriced and stuffy, another too depressing, and yet another had long ago shut down.

"Don't they ever throw anything out around here?" she asked and then chuckled, "No, I guess they don't. I'm still here!"

Finally we were left with a small batch. Dolores pulled out a map and circled the things I wanted to see and then made notations on how to get there.

"The bus is the best way to get to New York from here," she said, "Or the train's fine, too, depending on when you're set to leave."

She pointed to Times Square.

"Don't forget about the big New Year's bash they have there. If you're not one for crowds, I suggest you check it out before then."

I nodded, eyes wide at the flyer's photo of people screaming, dancing, and kissing, all packed together so tight you could barely tell where one left off and the other started.

"But here," she said with a wistful sigh, "You have to go to the top at night. It's… indescribable. It's perfect."

She looked down at me and smiled, "My husband proposed there," she added, "It would be… forty-eight years ago this Valentine's Day."

I gave her a watery smile, fighting back tears.

"I suppose you don't want to hear about it," she said, shaking her head.

"Tell me?" I asked, feeling sorry for her. She was obviously as lonely as I was.

She looked around to make sure there wasn't anyone waiting, and then we sat down in the overstuffed, slightly threadbare loveseat.

"His name was Eugene, and he was in the Army. That's how we met. I was a nurse and he was wounded. It was love at first sight. We came back to America on the hospital ship, together, and by the time we landed in New York, he'd proposed."

"I thought you said he proposed at the Empire State Building?"

"I'm getting to that," she admonished with a smile, "Anyway… where was I?"

"New York."

"Ah, yes. Now, when we got here, he still had a lot of recovering to do. I continued my work at the hospital while he recuperated. Everything was going wonderfully until a few days before Valentine's Day."

"What happened?" I asked, watching as the sadness and frustration flitted over her face.

"He found out he couldn't have children," she said quietly.

I gasped and she patted my hand.

"Don't worry! I told you we got married," she said, her eyes unfocused as she thought back, "I cried for days when he broke off our engagement. I tried to tell him it didn't matter to me, but he wouldn't listen. Said it wasn't fair to me, or some junk like that." She rolled her eyes and continued, "We'd planned a romantic night, ending at midnight at the top of the Empire State Building. I still had my ticket, so when Valentine's Day rolled around, I fled from all the romantic couples around me. I remember; it was snowing that night. Not hard, just enough to make the cold seem a little worse. I spent all afternoon up there, and when it got dark… I'd never felt so lonely. The lights were beautiful, but there was no one to share them with. I didn't want to share them with anyone else; just Eugene."

"You still loved him," I whispered.

"Of course!" she said with a smile, "Just because something happens, that doesn't mean you stop loving them. I think I would have loved him forever, even if he'd never proposed again."

"You wouldn't have moved on?" I asked.

She shook her head.

"Oh, I would have married someone else, probably. But it wouldn't be the same. He wouldn't be Eugene."

"What changed his mind?" I asked.

She laughed.

"You know, I still don't know! He wouldn't tell me. All I know was that it was getting close to midnight. The elevator operator was starting to look at his watch, and I knew it was time to go home. And then Eugene was there. He ran towards me like the hounds of hell were snapping at his heels and fell on one knee in front of me. He said something about not looking a gift horse in the mouth and not being worth me; I don't really remember. All I remember is him asking me, again, to marry him. And I said yes."

"And…" I asked.

"And we lived happily ever after," she said softly.

"You never had children?" I hesitantly asked.

"No."

"Was… was it worth it?"

She smiled at me and patted my hand again.

"He was worth it. Life isn't always fair, but sometimes it's wonderful anyway. Now," she said, standing and smoothing out her floral-print dress, "I've got to get back to work!"

"Dolores?"

"Yes, dear?"

"Thank you."

"For what?" she asked with a knowing smile before disappearing out the door.


	12. Chapter 12: You and I

AN: Chapter title from Lady Gaga's 'You and I'.

"There's something, something about this place. Something about lonely nights and my lipstick on your face. Yeah, this time I'm not leaving without you."

**Chapter 12: You and I**

It was the longest elevator ride of my life. I fidgeted uncomfortably, wanting to move, to run, to find her at last. But even I wasn't up to climbing 102 flights of stairs. It was twenty minutes from stumbling in the front doors to the quiet chime that signaled my ride was at an end.

11:58. The doors opened and I flew out of them. This was my last chance, my last hope. I would find her tonight or we'd be forever separated. Forever alone.

The rooftop was spotted with tourists, all looking out through the metal grating across the brightly-lit New York skyline.

Angeline wasn't among them.

Even from the back, I would recognize her. Her petit frame, her long, dark hair.

I'd missed her.

I paced around the elevators, checking every possible spot. My eyes flickered over to a couple, tucked away in the corner and kissing fervently.

Why had I let her leave? Why hadn't I followed her immediately? Made her see that it didn't matter to me, any of it. Made her see what she'd be leaving behind.

"30 seconds!" someone called out, the small crowd cheering.

A woman stepped out from behind a telescope and my heart skipped a beat. She was the right size, right coloration, but her hair was short and blonde. I had almost turned away when I saw her face.

Angeline.

"Angeline!" I called, running across the rooftop towards her.

Her brown eyes widened and she held onto the telescope stand in a death grip.

"C-Carlton?" she breathed, staring up at me as I skidded to a halt in front of her.

"Angeline, I love you," I said before she could say anything, "I will always love you, no matter what happens. I want to be with you. If that means giving up my job, my life, and following you around until you believe me, then I'll do it. I will. I'll do whatever you need me to do. Just let me stay with you."

"Carlton, I…" she started, shaking her head.

"No, Angeline, you listen to me," I insisted, going down on one knee, "I'll ask you again, and I'll keep asking you until you say yes. No matter how long it takes," I pulled out her ring, "Marry me, because I'm not leaving here without you."

"10… 9… 8," the crowd counted down, but I barely heard them, focused on her.

"Yes," she said.

I didn't move.

"Is that a forever yes?" I asked.

"6… 5… 4," the crowd continued.

She laugh-cried.

"Yes, Carlton," she said with a nod.

"2… 1…"

I stood and slid the ring onto her finger.

"Happy New Year!"

We kissed. Amid the screaming crowd, 102 stories high above Manhattan, with the snow falling lightly around us and fireworks brightening the night sky, and all I felt were her arms around me, her lips pressed against mine.

THE END

AN: I have an alternate ending in mind, so stick around for one more chapter! I also have a few one-shots I've got ideas for. But I need to get back to school work!


	13. Chapter 13: Alt Ending: Someone Like You

AN: Chapter title from Adele's 'Someone Like You'.

"Never mind, I'll find someone like you. I wish nothing but the best for you, too. Don't forget me, I beg. I remember you said, 'Sometimes it lasts in love but sometimes it hurts instead'."

**Chapter 13: Alternate Ending: Someone Like You**

You know what they say about the New Year: new beginnings, starting fresh, forgetting the past.

So why was I here?

It had been a year since I'd seen him. Since I'd stormed out of the hotel room, leaving him broken behind me.

I'd never heard from him or anyone in Santa Barbara since. But how could I? It wasn't like I left a forwarding address, a phone number, even an email. It was too much to hope, to pray that he'd find me somehow.

I'd waited all night last New Year's Eve. I'd waited, standing in the slowly falling snow at the uppermost peak, watching the lights and hoping.

He never came.

I never called.

I knew he was still here. I'd looked him up; made sure he was back home, back to work.

It was for the best.

I knocked on his door. Hopefully it wasn't too early.

"I've got it!" I heard him call out just before the door opened.

He was frowning. I almost smiled at the sight. He hadn't changed.

"Angeline?" he croaked, his frown twisting into a confused moue.

"Hello Carlton," I said softly.

"What are you doing here?" he asked bluntly and I could see the walls going up.

I smiled gently.

"I…"

"Carlton, honey, who was…" a woman asked, her apron splattered with flour and blonde hair tucked up in a frizzily pretty bun, "Oh!" she exclaimed in surprise, coming over to Carlton's side.

He raised his arm and wrapped it around her shoulders, pulling her close before he introduced us.

"Marlow, this is Angeline. Angeline, this is Marlow. My girlfriend," he added the last with emphasis.

Didn't he know me at all? Like I was going to try to come between them or be jealous. Like I had any right to be.

"Nice to meet you," I said politely, nodding towards her.

"You too," Marlow replied, looking quickly between us as if measuring the tension, "Well, I need to get back to my cooking, so I'll let you two catch up," she said, squeezing Carlton's hand as she slipped away.

"She seems nice," I said quietly, shivering slightly in the cold breeze.

"She's more than nice," Carlton said defensively, standing in the doorway, his hand around the knob.

"I'm glad," I said, smiling genuinely at him.

He cocked his head, now more confused than defensive.

"I'm glad you found someone," I explained, "Someone more than nice," I added.

"We're happy," he said firmly, "I'm happy," he clarified with a jerk of his head.

I nodded and then took a deep breath. I hadn't come all this way for nothing.

"I came here to thank you, Carlton."

"For what?" he asked, a hint of bitterness in his voice.

"For showing me what it was like to be really loved," I explained, choking slightly on the words.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, his hand clenching around the doorframe.

"I loved you, Angeline. I really did."

"I know. I loved you, too."

His eyes snapped open and he glared at me.

"Then why did you…"

I cut him off.

"You know why," I said, turning to leave.

He stepped onto the porch and grabbed my arm, spinning me around to face him.

Before he spoke, a car horn honked.

I turned towards the car and waved, gesturing for him to give me a minute.

"He's waiting for me," I explained, looking up at Carlton.

He glared towards the car, his hand still around my arm.

"I have to go now," I added gently.

"Do you love him?" he asked, still glaring at Tim.

"Yes," I said softly.

He released my arm and I turned towards the car.

Glancing back at him, I couldn't help but add one more thing.

"But he's not you."

He chuckled dryly.

"And she's not you," he murmured.

I smiled at him.

"Goodbye, Carlton."

"Goodbye, Angeline."

I walked to the car and didn't look back. It wouldn't be fair. To us or them.

It was a new year. A blank slate.

It was time to start living.

THE END… AGAIN

AN: I hope you guys liked this alternate ending! It was a little sad, but not too bad, right?


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